Somewhere

“Everyone knows this is nowhere.” Is it? 

Can’t be. 

Who drew the map of the road to nowhere? The road goes on forever. 

Up ahead. 

Around the bend. 

Just over there. 

There! 

But there isn’t nowhere. 

Here isn’t nowhere. It’s here. It’s a half-rebuilt cottage where Johnny Gimble once fiddled. It’s a green and yellow Olympic medal stand shrine to John Deere johns. That’s somewhere. Likely nowhere else.

“Everybody seems to wonder what it's like down here,” but “everybody knows this is nowhere.” 

Where ya’ going? Nowhere. 

Whatcha gonna do? Nothing. 

Who with? No one.  

No one is no one. I mean a real nowhere man sits in his nowhere land “making all his nowhere plans for nobody” is “a bit like you and me.” 

Someone. Somewhere. 

Are we there yet? 

Are we there yet? 

Are we there yet? 

When will we get there? Tomorrow. 

Are we there yet? 

Are we there yet? 

Are we there yet? 

When will we get there? Where? 

“Somewhere else. Not here.” 

Nowhere to run? Too close and too far. 

Nowhere to hide? Hmmm. 

Nowhere is a bad place to hide. 

No one is nowhere. 

No one will find you. 

Gig’s up.